#i can't believe im not allowed to center align

[pinkaditty]

Who's Passing NNN? Tokyo Debunker Pt 4

honestly? i can't believe i got this far.

a/n: well. here we are! pt 4! enjoy the sinostra ghouls at long last. i included actual parts of the japanese constitution and im hoping that hasn't broken any laws?? idk if they can put the laws as lines in a game i can put them in fictional writing i hope.

quick disclaimer that i write these under the assumption the tokyo debunker boys are at least 18 years old. they appear to be present at a university considering there are professors and a chancellor. not to mention the boys drink, smoke, gamble, and refer to themselves as adults.

summary: part 4 of the "Who's Passing NNN?" Tokyo Debunker series. I hope y'all enjoy this one!!! i actually wrote more than i thought i would.

cw: men suffering while jerking off, my favorite thing. MINORS DNI!!!!!!! once again never proofread (sorry)!!!

Frostheim || Vagastrom || Jabberwock || Sinostra || Hotarubi || Obscuary || Mortkranken

(almost done with hotarubi... loving haku jorking it. obscuary after hotarubi!)

Sinostra: 

Taiga Hoshibami: Fail

He didn’t fail intentionally. As little as he’s into romance, he has to jack off every now and again. Unfortunately, the stars aligned wrong for him and he lost NNN. Not that he cared, anyway.

Later. The word echoed in his mind as he tried to focus on the cards in front of him. Later. Later, later, later! Now was, quite possibly, the worst time for a boner to distract him. He growls in displeasure and everyone else at the table flinches, as though he’d pounce anytime soon. But he could care less about them. He couldn’t even comprehend the cards in his hand, his vision swimming as most of his focus (and blood) shot straight to his groin. He runs a hand through his hair, angrily gripping a fistful of it, forcing his attention to the slight stinging of his scalp instead, allowing himself to redirect it to the cards. 

Oh, a Royal Flush. Good, he didn’t have to care anymore. 

When the dealer asks for remaining bets, he lazily pushes his entire stack of chips towards the center. “Raise,” he gurgles out, before plopping his head back into his hand, angrily gripping at his hair as his erection continued to grow. The dealer, despite being shocked, continued through the remaining bets. As he did, Taiga continued pulling at his roots, trying to focus on the soft stinging. Unfortunately, the more he did it, the more relaxing it felt, sending gentle shivers down his spine… Which went straight to his cock, now at full mast. He angrily bangs his hand down on the table, staring at the cards as though their existence peeved him. Everyone at the table flinched again, watching him carefully before continuing the game. 

When it comes time to show off the cards, Taiga carelessly tosses his onto the table, eliciting a shocked gasp from the dealer and disappointed groans from the other players. As satisfying as this win should be, he doesn’t even stay to drink in the victory or collect his chips. He sits up from the table and stalks off angrily, hoping his stiff walking and obvious blush wasn’t a dead giveaway to the heat in his groin that only grew warmer. 

Romeo Lucci: Pass (Miserably)

He passes for clout. He made a bet with Rui regarding which of them could last all throughout November, and he wasn’t going to lose. He is, however, almost as miserable as Leo is. He’s got an ego to fill, and jacking himself off helps that.

He was having one hell of a time going through all these documents. His useless, blundering thoughtless hooligan of a boss was far too caught up gambling to review the mission documents, so it was up to him, or else he’d never hear the end of it from that damned prick of a ghoul freshman. Romeo sighs and leans back into the couch, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. He couldn’t focus on anything. This odd feeling had been swimming in his head all day. He couldn’t tell if he was sleepy, hungry, thirsty… some other kind of ‘-y’, maybe? Maybe he really was hungry… There was an odd feeling stirring in his abdomen, after all. He chuckled in a dismissive ‘As if!’ kind of way when the word ‘horny’ came to mind. Yea, as if. 

That is, until the thought inadvertently shifts some of his focus to his length, which had been progressively hardening. 

He stiffens immediately, gripping the documents in his hand tightly. He clenches his jaw and looks around himself, despite knowing he’s in the Sinostra VIP room alone. He glances down at his crotch, noticing his length pressing into his uniform slacks. Unbelievable. What was worse was, that now that all his attention was on it, he couldn’t tear it away. Even as he tried to stare at and absorb the information on the damned mission documents, his cock continued to twitch, unwilling to go down. He stares at the documents until his vision is swimming, unable to absorb any of the information as his erection grew taller and prouder. When he finally gives up, shamefully checking to ensure he’s really alone, he pulls out his cock, his face burning with embarrassment, and bites his glove with one hand to muffle the noise. Before he knows it, he’s going fast, his eyes rolling back, his hips jerking forward, his breathing growing heavier. When he finally finishes, he spurts his release across whatever’s in front of him, panting heavily, his head thrown back into the cushion of his favorite chair, his eyes rolling into his head. He sighs and carefully shifts, surveying the inevitable mess in front of him.

His cum was splattered all over the documents he was supposed to go over. His face burns with anger and shame. This was all that… blundering, thoughtless hooligan’s fault..!

Ritsu Shinjo: Pass

Yes, he jacks it. I believe that. I also think he is more than capable of going a month without it. He’s ambitious enough to make it happen. That said, he didn’t learn about the competition until later, and despite finding it frivolous, decides to participate. 

He was studying the Compendium of Laws once again, brushing up on his knowledge some more during his downtime in his dorm room. Or, at least, he should be. When he wakes up out of his trance, he’s staring up at the ceiling, his mouth half open in a moan, his hand gently palming himself through his pants. He quickly pulls his hand back, his face burning with embarrassment. He had to focus on studying. It’d already been long enough since he’d had a proper refresher of the laws of Japan. He throws himself back into it, holding his hands behind his back, putting his full concentration into rereading the page before him. 

The Japanese Constitution, Chapter III, Article 13… He read along in his head, blinking carefully, attempting to pour all his focus into this. Article 14… And it works, for a while, before he realizes the words are slipping through his mind again. He finds himself on Article 17, despite not remembering what Article 15 and 16 were. He snaps back to attention and finds his hands on his thighs, his right thumb creeping rather close to his clothed erection, heavy and tucked against his right thigh. He curses himself, and after a moment of indecision, bites his lip and reluctantly unbuttons his pants. Carefully pushing one hand inside, he leans over the Compendium again, gently taking hold of himself. Something about this felt… wrong. But he had no choice if he wanted to focus. 

He starts stroking himself, hoping that relieving some pressure would help him focus better. 

Article 15… He moans, interrupting his focus. The people have the inalienable right… He groans, his body lurching forward as his hand moves a little faster. He grits his teeth and keeps reading. …To elect and dismiss… A needy whine escapes him, and he goes faster, bucking his hips forward. …Their chosen officials… Almost there. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, not bothering to read anymore. His hand moves faster across his cock, and his shoulders shake as he releases, his seed dripping onto his pants. He huffs out a sigh and collapses, his cheek laid against the page he was reading.

a/n: this was so much longer than i intended lol these r actually my least fav ghouls. ritsu and romeo are the yapping team that piss me the fuck off (most of the time) and taiga is just odd. what's even funnier is that this is the house i was placed in during the tokyo debunker personality test...

anyways! note that i absolutely adore comments, reblogs, and likes!!! please tell me how much you enjoyed reading my work!! it's what keeps me writing!

final note that i've recently discovered a haru stan in my following and now im encouraged to finish writing the 'dry humping with haru sagara' fic that's sitting in my 20 pg google doc of unfinished tokyo debunker works. also @cupcakesmoothie i hope u like this bc u mentioned this is ur fav house, i also find ur tags funny

[omnitricks]

thinking about. that one poll that was like 'queer ppl would you rather be an angel or a demon' and all of the demon arguments are like "why would i be a servant of god lmao" and im just kinda sitting here feeling so alien to these people, like. is it so wrong?

i think about the concept of divinity a lot. like, a concerning amount, from a mix of massive anxiety and a healthy sprinkling of religious trauma and i think about. how people treat the concept of a god in the 2020s. the counterculture masses acts as if the concept of a god is automatically one that is vindictive, cruel, and aligns itself with hate. and i get it, christianity has been used as a shield to get behind some of the worst acts in history.

but wouldn't it be so nice? if The God was a loving, benevolent creature, who allowed us to feel the broad spectrum of emotion, gender, sexuality, because he loves us? Why do you reblog that one stolen quote about god making you trans for the same reason he made grapes and not wine and then turn around and call him vindictive? is the concept of a queer angel so truly alien to you? a beacon of hope that persists in the world, a walking fog lantern for other queers, telling them 'you are okay' and 'you are loved.' if not by anyone here, then you are loved by god and all the angels in heaven.

obviously this is very. christianity focused. but thats because so many of the arguments are centered around the christian god! its all so fire and brimstone! it's all fear! its horrific! i just wish i could reclaim some of it. the part of it, the part of *me,* that was tainted by the muddy hands of those that claimed they loved me. i dont know if i believe in a god anymore. the reincarnation bit is looking more and more appealing to me every day, but. the fear remains. that fear of a hateful loathing being looking at me currently still seeps up into my spine and out my eyes. i can't stop fearing that. so i choose to believe, not necessarily in A God, but in the concept that if there is one, and i could speak to him, he would say there is an angel just like me.

[emotionalsupportbun-chan]

i'm talkin WIP WIP WIP thats a work in progress

cw: sub Daigo, dom Ryuji, praise kink, hand jobs, feelings

You Look Pretty with Your Mouth Hanging Open

He is sitting in the back of some no name cabaret, eyes glazed into the middle distance. A woman, unpretty enough for her name to get lost in the back of his mind, clings to his arm. She’s telling him about an expensive watch at Le Marche - something jewel toned and European. Like what decorates the wrists of half the girls in Kamurocho. Dime-a-dozen.

But he’s not hearing the plain-ish hostess beg for trinkets. Or at least not listening to her. He lets his boys do that, and splash out on expensive affirmations of counterfeit love. He didn’t need that. To be reminded that anything he got here was a pleasant imitation at best.

And you think it was different with him? You think he loved you?

No, but at least there was no pretense otherwise. 

“Hey, Aniki. We have time for another bottle, right?” This one - Hiroki? - is getting an eye full of tit and an expensive earworm.

Daigo looks down at the half empty glass of half-water whisky in his hand. The color is hatefully reminiscent. He knocks it back and leaves the glass coasterless on the cheap table. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

-

He finds solipsism near the end of the third bottle. He is younger. He is full of piss and vinegar. He wants to take the world and crumble it between his teeth. There are no hostess clubs or expensive European watches.

But there are hands that tame him from time to time. Hands that weave his hair tight between their fingers. Hands the prise open his jaw, relieve the pressure on his world-crumbling teeth, and pull sighs and moans and Yes, sirs from his throat.

And there is a mouth with a scar in the corner that he traces with his tongue. A mouth that cracks open his skull and relieves the pressure on his world-weary mind with cock-throbbing Good boys.

Of course there have been hands and mouths since. Hands and mouths that repeat the refrain, sing the same chorus and bridge. But out of key. Octaves too high.

You’re just upset he gets your engine going hotter than any hostess could.

And?

But.

But?

The last fill station was a hundred kilometers ago. And you can’t conceive of another showing up any time soon.

He is jostled by an elbow to the side, still preoccupied with hands and mouths and cars and songs. “You good, bro?”

His glass is empty and so is bottle three. His gut is left full of liquor that feels like it’s trying to rot out the bottom. “Yeah, fine.” The response is far away, half way out the door already. Looking back to ask if they’d paid the bill yet.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. No, really. I’m great.”

Can’t even muster up a smile.

For lack of liquor, Daigo chewed ice until the check came.

-

The door is only a few dozen feet away, but he is full of feelings and fire water. Cotton head, cotton mouth, cotton heart. Only a teenage eternity faking sober to see him through. Concentrate.

What, hear that?

What?

That voice.

From a private room nearby. Bass-low, strutting around like it owns the joint. Peacocking. He’d know it anywhere.

There it is. Last stop for who knows how long.

But why is he here?

Does it matter? Think about it.

Don’t think about it. He’d never live down walking out of here with a half-mast cock.

From what? A memory? Of being on your knees while he drips cigarette-flavored spit from his pretty lips into your mouth?

He centers himself with a hard breath through the nose.

Think of it as motivation.

“Hey, you coming or what?” The others are paces ahead. He’s been loitering near the short hall to the private rooms for an embarrassingly long time.

Now or never. What’s it gonna be?

Beat.

Well?

“Yeah, uh. I just gotta, uh, piss first.” He slips into the hall before any response, knowing full well the bathrooms were upstairs.

Attaboy.

His honey voice fades in and out with laughter and exclamation. It makes Daigo’s palms sweat. His pulse quicken.

What if he tells you to go fuck yourself, huh? What then?

Maybe that would be a mercy. Maybe if he couldn’t have him forever, he shouldn’t have him at all.

What if he doesn’t even remember you?

Worse. To become insignificant to the best thing he’d ever had.

What happened to not loving him?

He didn’t. Doesn’t. It wasn’t love, it was peace. Not romance, but oblivion. Emptiness.

Freedom.

Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.

Someone had left the door to their room open. There are fewer people than Daigo expects. Three, four. And him at the center of it all. The sun, cock-sure with an ugly hostess petting his chest.

Now what? You gonna go in there and beg?

No.

He’d like that. You’d like that.

No. Something else.

Please sir, can I have some more?

Something else.

Daigo rubs his hands on his jeans and screws his face into something akin to a scowl. He doesn’t fill the doorway. “Ryuji Goda, what the fuck are you doing in Kamurocho?” His voice doesn’t fill the words either. It’s false confidence.

“Haw?” His mouth - dangerous, exciting, the second best part of him - pulls into a signature sneer. “And who the fuck is asking?”

And so the worst has come to pass.

No, maybe he’s just putting on a show for the boys. Daigo can play along.

“I am.”

“And who are you?” No hesitation. Unflustered.

The same could not be said of Daigo, who searches his face for any spark of recognition. Anything. Anything to alleviate the growing, gnawing pit eroding his chest.

It takes everything he has not to say ‘They guy who’s had your cock in his mouth more times than you can count’ or ‘The guy who used to let you blow his back out daily’.

Instead he says nothing and leaves with a muttered ‘whatever’. There is nothing productive to be had in the exchange. Nothing to gain, but so much to lose.

Poor, poor Daigo. But you were prepared for this, remember?

A likely story. A convenient lie. He isn’t sure that had even been possible.

-

He is puking in the back of some no name alley off east Taihei, drink having finally caught up to him. Red eyed and snotty, he remembers the first time he’d gagged on cock, when Ryuji’d gotten impatient and shoved it half way down his throat. He hadn’t puked then but he’d wanted to, more out of revenge than anything else. And the thought of the words that’d follow the act of returning all the cum he’d swallowed to its rightful owner.

But he hadn’t. He’d let Ryuji fuck his mouth, whispering soft affirmations.

‘Good boy, take it.’

‘You can do it.’

‘That’s it.’

Later he’d said how he’d liked the way it made Daigo’s eyeliner run. How he’d liked seeing the strings of spit and cum the stretched between Daigo’s mouth and the head of his cock after he’d finished and pulled out of his throat.

You’ll never find another one like him.

Yeah.

Take a minute, mourn the loss.

Yeah.

Unless…

Unless?

Stiff-soled shoes power down the alley behind him. They pause - there was the hesitation - before a large hand sweeps up into the hair on the back of his head to grip it just tight enough. He pulls Daigo’s head back, leaving his throat open and bare.

Just like old times.

Daigo is still in puking position - half-bent, hands braced against the grimy wall - so Ryuji towers over him. By the hair, he pulls Daigo up, other arm wrapping around his chest. Keeping him close. Holding him tight enough for Daigo to know he hadn’t really forgotten.

Exactly like old times.

“Ya always did like to play hard-to-get, Daigo-chan.” Ryuji all but whispers the words into his skin, letting the bass of his voice rumble through his chest and into Daigo’s. “I’m real sorry I had to scare ya off earlier, but ya didn’t have to wander so far.” He sets his teeth against the skin of Daigo’s neck. Just a little pressure. Just enough to thrill.

So how are we feeling about this?

“Please -” is all Daigo can manage, and just barely.

Guess you’ll have to unpack this later.

“Damn. Missed me that much, huh? Sweet boy, ya missed my cock?” A hand travels up his chest to rest encircling his throat. No squeeze yet, but the promise is there. He places a little kiss behind Daigo’s ear.

Daigo cannot respond. He is all nerve endings.

“Answer me, pretty boy. I need to know yer in there.”

“Yes.” He chokes it out.

“Good boy. Ya wanna play a game with me?”

“Yes!” Daigo’s cock jumps at the memory of their games.

Ryuji laughs low and it’s like something soft weaving between Daigo’s knees. The hand in his hair and the other hand at his throat are all that’s holding him up. “Can’t say I haven’t missed yer pretty mouth too.” He plants another kiss. Then a few more.

This man is gonna leave you comatose, sending all the blood from your dome down below.

And it’ll have been worth it.

“Ya wanna hear how our game’s gonna go?

Answer him.

The best Daigo can do is nod.

“Thought so. Ya’ve always been such a good little slut for me.”

And you always will be.

More little kisses evolve into something harder. Ryuji works gently at his neck with teeth and lips and tongue before continuing. “For now, I’m gonna make ya cum. Just to hold ya over for a little while.” The hand leaves his neck to pull his shirt up and drag fingertips up and down his belly.

It won’t take much

“Then tomorrow, somebody’s gonna come pick ya up. Not sure when, not sure where. They’re gonna be a little rough about it, but don’t worry.” Ryuji moves on to his belt and button. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt my little cocksleeve.” The belt is gone quickly but he takes his time with the rest, hand playing over the bulge of Daigo’s cock as he spins his story.

“They’re gonna tie ya up, just how we like it. And bring ya out to see me. We’re gonna have a great time together.” Finally, Daigo is free. Once Ryuji was done teasing him, the button and zipper came in quick succession.

And now Daigo’s breath is coming in pants, making cloud-bursts of heat in the night. Ryuji grips the base of his cock with the smallest amount of pressure. “Sound good, darlin’?”

If Daigo could produce a single coherent thought, he’d have wondered what all the theatrics were for. But he’s past that. Way past that. Half way to bliss. “Yes, sir.”

Old habits die hard.

He strokes up once, just to send a thrill down Daigo’s spine. Just to make his knees quake. “Good boy.” He keeps Daigo’s head pulled to the side to continue working at the deepening bruise at the crook of his neck. Keeps his hips pressed firmly into Daigo’s ass. Keeps a steady pace on his cock and a steady stream of sweet words in his ear.

Daigo is unravelling. At some point, the hand in his hair leaves to slip two fingers into his gasp-open mouth for him to suck on. His favorite gag.

Happy now?

Euphoric.

He makes small noises as the fingers push back into his throat - less sensitive now that it had once been - as Ryuji growls into his ear. “Ready to cum for me, sweet boy?”

No. Yes. Both. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. Or does he want to ride this for as long as he can?

He decides to let Ryuji make the choice for him, answering only in doe eyes and a pleading look.

His pace slows. “Pretty boy can’t make up his mind?”

Daigo gives him a muffled moan.

He has stopped altogether. The hand in his mouth returns to his hair to tilt his head downward. The hand on his cock returns to neutral, resting with a firmer grip around the base. “What does my lover boy think? Does this cock look like it’s ready to cum?”

Daigo is swollen red and leaking onto the trash bags below his spread-eagle legs.

“D -”

“Yes, baby?” He gives Daigo’s cock a short squeeze. “Spit it out.”

“Daddy, please.”

He laughs. “Well, since ya asked so nicely.”

It doesn’t take much more than that.

From somewhere in his coat, Ryuji produces a few pocket tissues and cleans his hands, all while keeping Daigo propped against his chest. He returns to trailing kisses up and down Daigo’s neck. “Look at ya, bein’ so good for me.” He tosses the tissue over his shoulder. “But ya’ve made such a mess. I’d make ya lick it up if I weren’t worried about the germs.”

You would too, if he demanded it.

He knows.

Haven’t you ever heard of a refractory period?

But it feels good to want again. To ache for it.

Ryuji turns Daigo around once he’s tucked him away, put his clothes back in place. He keeps his arms slung around Daigo’s hips, hands on his ass. Daigo knows there is want for tenderness in him. Typically, it went unexpressed.

Tonight, though, Ryuji presses his forehead against Daigo’s. Kisses first the tip of his nose, then one corner of his mouth, then the other.

Then back to the nose, then each eyelid, until they were laughing again like the young idiots they once were. Like they used to.

He ends things with a kiss full on the mouth, more romantic than Daigo expected. He says his goodbyes and pulls away. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, hot stuff.”

He is at the end of the alley when he stops. Almost out of ear shot. “I’m sorry, by the way. For what happened. For all that.”

It knocks the air out of Daigo’s chest.

Right.

That.

Did you think you could just go back to the way things were?